


Hellooooooo Nurse~!

by shipcat



Series: Naruto Event Work [5]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Amaya if you're reading this - don't, Blood and Violence, Dark Comedy, Doctor AU, Gen, Gift Fic, Horror, I made up shit for Drama, Medical Inaccuracies, Murder, Prequel to Drag Me to Hell, Sasori is a sadistic asshole, prisoner au, really those two are ridiculous, so is hidan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipcat/pseuds/shipcat
Summary: Kakuzu, a prisoner admitted to the emergency room in critical condition, falls in love with the resident nurse Hidan, who happens to be an Angel of Mercy killer.(Prequel to Drag Me to Hell.)





	Hellooooooo Nurse~!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frostberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostberry/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Drag Me to Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174448) by Anonymous. 



> A very belated gift as apart of last summer's Naruto Gift Exchange. I completed it earlier but unfortunately did not have a beta for it until now. 
> 
> More chapters to come, dependent on inspiration and motivation. 
> 
> Becca, I hope you still like it as much now as you did previously.
> 
> Please enjoy!

 

_B-BIP! BIP!_

Room 215 was a pallid, sterile place, with windowless walls and two white cots—one occupied by a murderer, and the other by a man that was about to die.

A privacy curtain stood between the two cots, tall, ominous, and swaying in the grasp of the hospital-grade A/C. At night, it cut a horrifying figure, glowing with the red emergency lights of the respirator, and shrieking with the rapid, weak pulse of the condemned man. The curtain was more spirit than sheet. More veil than screen.

_B-BIP! BIP!_

Something otherworldly spun behind it, clicking desperately. Frantically. The murderer felt that if the curtain were opened, he would find himself staring at another dimension entirely.

He was fairly certain he was seeing things. And hearing things. And feeling things, though it was hard to feel much of anything past the anesthesia dragging his body down like cement. His skin burned hot one second and cold the next. His bandages, wet with the blood of four gunshot wounds, pulled at his flesh as if they were alive—and when he jerked up to tear them away from his body, he almost dislocated his wrists—handcuffed to the hospital bed.

A nightmare—this room was a nightmare.

And the beeping certainly did not help.

_B-BIP! BIP!_

The door clicked open and shut. A shadow passed before the curtain, flickering in time with the heart monitor, and sat down by the condemned man, pressing a dark hand against the silhouette of his forehead.

_B-BIP! BIP! B-BIP! BIP!_

“Kimimaro…” the shadow crooned, deep and masculine. “Are you ready?”

The condemned man—Kimimaro—shuddered as he shook his head. From the murderer’s vantage point, it was impossible to tell if it was a yes or a no.

“ _Oh fuck yeah_ ,” the shadow breathed, curtain rustling with his pleasure. The murderer privately thought he enjoying himself far too much.

_B-BIP! BIP! B-BIP! B-BIP!_

“H… h….”

The shadow quickly grabbed the condemned man’s face, shushing him. “There’s blood all over your chin, you poor bastard. _Shithead residents must’ve misplaced the breathing tube…”_ he muttered. “Hold on, let me—there! Good as new. No tube, no problems, right?” The shadow hummed sympathetically, voice nearly drowned out by the the wheeze of the respirator.

_B-BIP! BIP! …  B-BIP! B-BIP!_

There was a gurgling sound, thick with fluid. The shadow slapped Kimimaro on the shoulder before standing up, curtains rippling with his movement, creating pillars of darkness. For a moment several figures hovered behind the shadowy man—and in the garish, incredible setting of Room 215, they seemed almost real.

It made him want to puke.

_B-BIP! ... BIP!... B-BIP!...B-BIP!_

The curtains moved again and the figures disappeared, leaving the shadow to stand alongside Kimimaro. His mumblings grew ever louder as the heart monitor slowed, and quieted; the murderer picked out vague rantings about god, shared suffering, and everlasting peace, which all seemed so circular and nonsensical that he was sure that this shadow was a mad man, if he even existed at all.

At last, a forceful peace fell over the room, nearly suffocating in its stillness. Through the gap between the privacy curtain and the wall, the murderer spotted a flash of green scrubs and rubber gloves. Then, the blaring light of the respirator dimmed, and, after a few fumbling curses, was completely snuffed out.

With the beeping gone, the nausea dissipated. He exhaled with relief, and dread crept into the void—as now all that remained in Room 215 was a shadow, a corpse, and a half-conscious murderer.

He squinted, searching for movement in the darkness, limbs heavy with painkillers. His hands curled into weak fists, shaking against the handcuffs, before falling apart, useless and leaden.

The squint turned into a blink, and the blink turned into a split second of blackness.

He jerked awake as a small white light came on. It floated towards the door, near the patient charts placed there for staff convenience.

“Good night, Kimimaro…” the shadow said, flipping pages with a small satisfied chuckle. The painkiller resurged in the resulting silence, dragging its fingers through the grooves of his brain and lowly coaxing him under.

_“...and Kakuzu!?”_

Kakuzu’s eyes snapped open. The outraged squawk made his head pound in annoyance and amusement. Obviously the shadow did not know that the condemned man shared a roommate—one who was not so easy to kill.

The shadow let out a strangled, frustrated growl. But rather than attack, he spun around and fled the room, door flying shut behind him.

Thirty seconds went by. Kakuzu held his breath as he listened for approaching footsteps. His pulse wavered and dallied, drumming loudly in his ears, then tapping softly against his head, slipping below his conscious notice.

He was finally asleep when hospital staff burst in, barking out orders as they snapped on the halogen lights.

Kakuzu buried his head in his pillow—

—and groaned.

* * *

 

***

*

As it turned out, it was not the most annoying part of the night.

After several loud attempts at resuscitation, Kimimaro Kaguya was declared dead at 3:33 a.m. Cause of death was determined to be rapid and unexpected progression of the disease, which Kakuzu didn’t care to hear about but was forced to nonetheless.

“Age twenty-eight. Symptoms: Bone degradation and muscular atrophy of both skeletal and cardiac tissue, reducing tidal volume by forty percent. Patchy rash on the face and torso indicative of autoimmune response. Hyperinflammation of the throat causing extreme discomfort. Patient extracting their own breathing tube, resulting in lacerations and collapsed trachea... severe hemorrhaging...”

Though it had been literal decades since Kakuzu had opened a medical textbook, the vocabulary was vivid enough and the painkillers strong enough that the corpse in room 215 appeared before his cot.

Translucent white hair hung down around its face, forehead splotched with two red hives. Bright green eyes, ringed red with tiredness, loomed down at him like a dream. Crimson bubbled from its lips as it opened its mouth to speak.

“The shadow man. He will kill you.”

“He will _not_ ,” Kakuzu snarled. His handcuffs clinked as he pulled them taut. “I won’t let him!”

The corpse—ghost? Hallucination?—wavered for a moment. It was too weak to stand, so it floated, strips of muscle stretched over twig-thin limbs. Then, it tilted its head politely, a silver strand of hair falling across its face.

“He will kill you,” Kimimaro repeated, as if its throat was not sunken in. As if blood was not pouring down its chin. “Or die trying.”

Kakuzu strained against his bonds. The bed frame creaked, then cracked—then broke entirely.

He lunged for Kimimaro and wrapped his hands around its throat. His fingers slipped in and out of its jugular, the half-tangible being regarding him coolly.

“Quick. One of you,” The corpse suddenly said. “Tell me why this patient has black scarring throughout his body. Hurry,” it added, strict voice contrasting with its calm face. “We don’t have much time.”

Kakuzu woke up to a gaggle of medical students with gaping at him, frightened. Nearby, a short redhead with a dollish face and a white doctor’s coat tapped an expensive pen against his clipboard.

He was Sasori Akasuna, according to his name tag. His gaze was icy yet lazy, glazed over with an ennui more suitable to the dead than a doctor. He belonged in the morgue, and if Kakuzu were not chained to this bed (or perhaps _because_ he was chained to the bed), he would send Sasori there himself.

“Well?” The residents flinched as the silver-plated nib scribbled venomously on the clipboard, no doubt docking points.

The handcuffs—still attached to the bed—jingled as Kakuzu groggily rose, back pinching in pain, to face the crowd before him.

There was a bored looking resident with a spiky ponytail, too lazy to bother answering; a larger man sneaking chips from his tote bag; a mousy little thing pressing her fingers together; and a pink-haired and blond girl arguing in whispers as they glanced between Kakuzu and the patient. None of them were familiar and none of them met his gaze, with the exception of Akasuna, who stared through Kakuzu as if he wasn’t really there.

Sasori picked up the patient chart, turning up his nose at the blank fields. _8:45 a.m.,_ he wrote. _room 215. the prisoner awakens._

 

He did not wait for an answer. “The butchers in surgery never take medical history into account. Meaning that one of you will have to redress the patient’s bandages to ensure that the job was done right.”

The residents shifted uneasily. Volunteers were not forthcoming. No one, it seemed, wanted to be anywhere near the murderer, which was rather sensible of them, considering how many Kakuzu had killed: five bodies, which the police had found, and many more which they had not.

The blonde raised her eyebrow as Sasori turned his dead gaze over to her.  “Yamanaka will do the honors,” the doctor declared.

Yamanaka threw the doctor a look, snapping her gum angrily. The pink-haired resident at her side elbowed her sharply. “Come on, Ino, you _know_ what happens when Dr. Akasuna has to wait,” she hissed.

“Sakura.” Ino snorted. “Stop worrying so much, or you’ll get even more wrinkles.”  
  


“M-more!?” Sakura sputtered.

Ino waved her off. “Sorry, can’t keep the doctor waiting,” With that, she sauntered over to Kakuzu’s bed, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and grabbing a medic trolly.

Kakuzu waited for Ino with burning green eyes, knuckles clenched under his handcuffs. Black scars indeed covered most of his visible body, from two thick black crescents extended from the corner of his lips to just under his cheekbones, to the myriad of suture-shaped tracks which lined his chest, biceps, and forearms, marring an otherwise attractive tanned physique.

He was… kinda hot, actually. In another world, where he didn't look like he wanted to strangle her, Ino would date him in a heartbeat.

But in this world, ‘Kakuzu’ was a murderer, with a high track record for—yes. Strangling. And the closer Ino got, the more he glared at her in a way that indicated that dinner and a movie was not on the table, unless it ended with her in a ditch somewhere, never to be seen again.

A shudder ran down her spine as she reached the bed railing. Nervous, she cracked her gum, popping it between her molars. By the time she asked Kakuzu to bend forward on the bed, the candy had lost all its taste.

"Oh, and Yamanaka?”

Ino stopped in her tracks.

“Please be so kind as to replace the IV on the patient. It seems as though he has pulled his out." The doctor's mouth twitched up, confessing a hint of amused sadism.

“Damn it,” she hissed, echoed by Sakura’s _“oh no.”_ The entire group of residents inwardly facepalmed.

Ino could not place an IV to save her life, let alone that of a patient. So it was with great trepidation that she undid the bandages around Kakuzu, who remained silent as she snipped away at the stitches—

—nylon. Just as the doctor predicted.

Kakuzu sat still while she worked, face pulling into a frown, then a scowl, then a grimace. Disinfectant bubbled up around the bullet wounds, smelling faintly of sulfur. This he could deal with. This she could deal with.

The IV was another story entirely.

“Get off me!”

  
“Stay still!”

“No!”

“Wait, I almost got it—”

“ _No!”_

Sasori clicked his tongue and checked his watch. Three minutes and four attempts latter, ending with a snarling prisoner with two holes in each arm, and a resident feeling very lucky that he was chained to a bed.

“You’re done, Yamanaka.” Sasori pulled out his pager. “I’m calling a nurse.”

A blood-splattered Ino sighed in relief and irritation. Kakuzu, not much better, had to agree.

With the nurse summoned, the residents were ushered out of the room. The doctor stayed by the empty bed, tapping his foot again.

Waiting.

The air conditioner hummed, goosebumps lifting across Kakuzu’s skin. He awkwardly tugged at the sheets in an attempt to cover himself more fully, but grew frustrated with the web of wires and handcuffs. Sasori, busy inspecting his nails, did not lift a finger to help.

At last the door flew open. A man strolled in with pale hair slicked back and his hands jammed into his scrubs.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mister I-don’t-need-your-damn-help Akasuna?”

By the way Sasori deflated, it was clear that he was expecting someone else. “That’s Doctor Akasuna to you.”

“Doctor, Mister, Twisted Transistor—” the nurse scoffed, “—whatever. This the asshole I gotta help?”

“—Kakuzu,” the prisoner interjected.

“...like I said, _Doctor_ ,” the man leaned down, untangling Kakuzu from the sheets. His ID badge said he was Hidan, Kakuzu noted. Hidan had nice biceps, he further noted.  “This the bastard that made Yamanaka cry?”

“Did she really?” Sasori seemed interested in that.

“Nah.” Hidan coughed something sounding suspiciously like ‘sadist.’ “She’s gossiping at the Nurse’s station, like usual. God’ll have her tongue for that, yeah? And not in the fun way.”

Sasori gave the two a deadpan stare. Hidan rolled his eyes, then turned his back on the doctor.

“He’s pissed because his boy toy didn’t come when summoned,” the nurse whispered to Kakuzu, and then said over his shoulder, “Hey, just how many times did this asshole get shot?”

“Four,” both Kakuzu and Sasori answered, before glaring at each other. Hidan took the opportunity to swipe an iodine cotton ball over Kakuzu’s arm, jabbing an IV needle into a teal vein. Kakuzu grimaced.

“Poor bastard,” Hidan hummed, leaning in to tape the wire to his forearm. “Akasuna—”

“Doctor.”

“‘Doctor’ Akasuna.” Hidan rolled his eyes again. “The guy was shot four times. I think he can do with a little pain killer, don’t you?” The nurse pointedly flicked him in the chest—near one of the exit wounds.

“I will kill you,” Kakuzu hissed.

Hidan only smiled.

 

“Perhaps.” Sasori picked up and flicked through the patient chart, lip curling up in distaste. “The state refuses to spend anymore on this ward. He is to be patched up and released to the Central State Incarceration Facility for further observation.”

“That’s too bad,” Hidan hummed again, brows pinched in false sympathy. “Maybe you can pull some strings?”

“Don’t waste your time,” Kakuzu snarled. “The only painful thing here is your incompetence.”

Hidan barked out in laughter, not agreeing or disagreeing. The doctor, blank-faced as usual, narrowed his eyes.

Still water runs deep. In Akasuna’s case, it simmered, muddy and thick, and barely bubbled on the surface.

“I _could_ reach out to my contacts,” he falsely soothed, “but that would be a gross abuse of my authority.”

“As if you don’t abuse your authority already,” Kakuzu retorted. Hidan’s chuckles only proved him right.

Sasori gave threw them both a cutting glance as he took out his watch. His eyebrow twitched as he realized the time.

“I am done here,” he plainly said. “Hidan—since you two get along so well, you’ll be responsible for the patient’s care for the remainder of his stay.”

Hidan stopped laughing. “Of course, ‘Doctor,”’ he mocked. “Let me know if you change your mind. About the painkiller thing.”

“As I said, ‘nurse,’” Sasori paused on the word long enough to make it insulting. “I’m done here. I’m leaving.”

“Then go,” Kakuzu shortly replied.

“Have fun with that,” added Hidan.

Sasori didn’t dignify them with a response. He pivoted on his foot and marched out of the room.

“You’re late, Obito,” he said to a dark haired male waiting outside.

“It wasn’t _my_ fault—”

Sasori interrupted his sputtering. “You’ll pay for it later. Where is my lunch?” The door clicked shut behind him.

Hidan made a face at the exit, then refocused on Kakuzu.

“So!” he chirped, tossing pink and orange stained cotton balls in the trash. His bloody gloves followed. “Guess you’re stuck with me, ay?”

Kakuzu looked down at his hands, handcuffs jingling as he tested the restraints. “Apparently,” he muttered, fingers curling into fists. He tensed his forearms, imagining them around Hidan’s neck—hot and close. Then cold, and closer.

“Now,” Haloed by white LEDs, Hidan smirked down at Kakuzu, hand on the curtain partition. “Let’s get a little light in here, so God can see our sins.”

With that, the nurse threw open the privacy curtain, revealing empty sheets, square-folded and gut wrenchingly perfect, no sign left of the poor soul that came before.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you liked it~! ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡
> 
> Any thoughts on Kakuzu? What did he do in the past - why is he in prison?
> 
> Any thoughts on Hidan? I'm experimenting with his characterization.
> 
> Let me know below, or catch me on Tumblr [ThatShipCat.](https://thatshipcat.tumblr.com)


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